


I Remember

by EspadaIV



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angels, Demons, Gen, Heaven, Hell, Original Fiction, children dying, crossing over, dying, themes of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 15:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13573134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EspadaIV/pseuds/EspadaIV
Summary: Death is asked a question that knocks him off guard.





	I Remember

**Author's Note:**

> I OWN THIS STORY. It was presented in a college publication in 2017. It's allllllll mine.
> 
> This story could trigger bad memories or make you cry. Just a warning.

I'm Death. I'm not a mythical creature. I sit around and wait for people to die. I'm extremely tired of doing this. I want it to be over. I want mankind to cease with their pointless meandering lives.

 

I'm not the only one out there. There are others that escort the dying to the Bridge of Peace. I just take them to the bridge, never over it. I didn't sign up for that job. There is someone else who is on the other side waiting for them. Those are the ones that take them to heaven, purgatory or hell.

 

Yesterday, I was assigned to an elderly woman who was lonely. Her children didn't visit anymore. Her spouse died in '02. She was ready to go. The woman was sweet but terrified of me. She was reluctant to take my hand.

 

I had the emotion of wanting to apologize to her. I didn't though. I rarely talk while working.

 

This morning I wake to find two slips stuck to my door. Two appointments. Two more lives.

 

This morning, there's a middle-aged man with a heart attack waiting to happen. That should be fun. He'll be spazzing over his girlfriend's recent pregnancy and his wife finding out about it. He's also stressing about his steroid use when he goes to the gym.

 

If you want to live longer, you should take care of your bodies.

 

He'll be in his office on the fifty-seventh floor. It overlooks the city. He's on his cell phone ranting over one woman contacting the other through social media and the truth coming out. Then his heart will just stop. I'll be there to take the man's hand. I'll probably appear as an angel to him.

 

I look like an average person. I just don't exist. I live in an abandoned building. Some of us decide to relive our new lives as humans. We just don't have their needs. Some choose just to be silent and invisible.

 

After all, is said and done, the man clutched his chest while staring at me with this horrified expression. He tried to bribe me. He begged to go to heaven. I heard his screams as he crossed the bridge. Apparently, he went to hell.

 

I got that squared away and looked down at my remaining slip. A frown graced my face. I hate taking kids. I feel bad for the parents. They suffer more than anyone. I know. I tend to hang around for a few days after the kid dies. It's just to make sure.

 

There are different kinds of Deaths. The ones that come and take you when you commit suicide are more like demons. They're scary. They're nightmares.

 

I've got a couple of hours before absolute zero, so I go to the hospital. I blend into the surroundings. No one notices me. At least that's what I think. Kids always see me. They're almost never sad, just curious.

 

This kid has some form of cancer, and it's all over. The endgame has presented itself. She's laying there sleeping. The parents are crying.

 

She's only five years old.

 

I have to swallow because like I said, I get torn up really bad about this kind of stuff. The older people don't bother me this much. They've led their lives.

 

The nurse comes in to check things and tells the parents it might be a few hours before she passes. They should go get coffee or food. They begrudgingly leave the room.

 

There is enough room on that big hospital bed for me to slip beside the girl. I try not to bump into her, but she wakes up. Her sunken, shadowed eyes are a dirty green. There's a knot in my throat. Her head is bald and smooth as I run my hand over the skin.

 

“Who are you?” she whispers to me, lips barely moving.

 

“I'm a friend.”

 

“You look like an angel.”

 

“I'm here to help you.”

 

“Am I dead? They said I'm going to heaven.”

 

I shake my head slightly. “Soon. I'm here to help you get there.”

 

“Can we wait for Mommy and Daddy to get back?” she asks. Her breathing got shallow, and her eyes close again. For a moment, I think she's gone. “I need to wait.”

 

I nod because I can not trust myself to talk. Together we lay on that bed in silence. There are tubes and wires and monitors blinking. I begin to think of how much I hate this form of reincarnation. Being Death isn't worth this heartache. Death was supposed to be darkness, sorrow, and infinite void.

 

Death actually has emotion. 

 

I was almost lulled into the silence when she speaks. I can barely hear her. It's nearly time. It bothers me. 

 

“Can I ask you a question?”

 

“Yes. You may ask me anything,” I reply. I'm expecting the customary “What comes next?” question, but the little girl absolutely floors me. I am in utter shock.

 

“What do you remember?”

 

I open my mouth to tell her that I remember everything. I stop myself. I cannot answer that. How can I remember everything when I've experienced nothing. All I know is Death. I spent my time in hell. I was a sinner just like everyone else. I picked this job because I was not ready to be reintroduced into a physical form.

 

I remember the first sunrise. I remember the first sunset. I remember running through tall grass in the summer, jumping in leaf piles in the autumn. I remember the smell of roses with dew on the delicate petals.

 

“I remember things,” I murmured to her. I gently stroked her head as I talked. I could hear some announcement being made. It broke through my thoughts. “I remember the sound of a woman laughing in joy. I remember the warmth of a hug, arms wrapping around me. I remember love. The sadness when I first experienced loss. I remember the calm I felt before my own death.”

 

“Is it scary? Is dying scary?” A tear slid out of one eye. “I'm scared.”

 

I nodded. Most people were frightened to die, but almost no one admitted it. I almost broke. This admiration and sadness swelled in my heart because this little girl was just accepting her death like it was nothing. It was total amazement. Most adults could not handle their passing.

 

“It's normal to feel that, but no, It's not scary at all.”

 

The little girl fell silent again. Her breathing was becoming even again. It was almost that time. I was frightened for her parents. I could hear them talking as they were walking towards the hospital room. The nurses' voice joined them. She sounded urgent. “Are you ready?”

 

“Almost,” she breathed.

 


End file.
